The Darker Side of Me

In Amorem

 "How did it go?" Michael asks, attempting to rise. I offer my hand and help him up. We walk arm in arm for a while before I say, "I feel... lighter."

"So it went well then," he responds pragmatically. "I'm glad. When I heard the yelling..." He can't bring himself to finish. I pause and lean my head on his shoulder. I am acutely aware that it is my fault he is struggling to move.

"I know. I'm sorry. For this... and for everything."

"Don't be sorry. Everything is going to be all right now."

We walk in silence towards the living quarters, navigating around the training court by silent agreement. In one of the storage hallways, I make him sit on a large crate to rest, then lower myself next to him. We stay there for a time, in no hurry, just being.

I can't help but reflect on my conversation with Teague. Joshua. My thoughts turn to the forbidden Book. I vaguely remember the story of the character Joshua making walls crumble with a song and the power of his god. As children, we all learned those stories. The elders reasoned that if the government had banned the Book, claiming it to cause too much turmoil, it must be worth reading. There were others, too, other texts about other gods. But none of them had the story that surfaces in my mind now.

It seemed to be the whole purpose of the Book, talking about a man named Jesus who was also somehow a god. It was said that he knew thoughts and healed wounds and died to save even the most broken souls. That was, of course, thousands of years ago. But I am willing to try anything to be normal again.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, I think, Jesus? If you are real, and if I even have a soul left to save, would you save it?

The weight of my infirmity crashes down like a tsunami. I shoot to my feet, looking about wildly for somewhere to run from my own mind. I should hide, I should die, I don't want to hurt everyone. My rapidly shifting eyes land on Michael. He struggles to his feet, leaning on the cane he built.

"Michael?" I whisper, my voice haunted. He limps over to me and sets the now-collapsed cane aside. He stands without wobbling, strong in his concern for me.

"I'm here," he says, taking my hand. I tilt my head up to look directly at him, tears brimming. He lifts his other hand, light as a breath, to cup my chin. His thumb brushes a tear away. I see myself reflected in his eyes, but I don't look as I am, haggard and sunken, hair combed but not washed, clothes clean but torn. In his eyes, I am still the girl I once was, a little more jaded, older and tired, but somehow even more beautiful than before. But he is wrong. I have to tell him. I have to save him from me.

"I am so broken," I choke wretchedly, suddenly afraid that he will leave. 

He doesn't.

"I know," he murmurs, tenderly placing a kiss on my brow. I lean into him, fighting back grateful sobs. "I am too," he admits. "But I will do my best to fix you."

"I will do the same," I promise, laying my head against his chest. He wraps his arms around me. The legs I weakened are unable to hold him any longer, so we sink to the ground in an embrace, wet with each other's tears. I can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong and there, just like he's always been. He is so wonderfully alive.

I suppose there must be something guiding us, because otherwise, I would not be kneeling here with him.